The Worst Years of Your Life (32 page)

“Ah, a Baci ceremony,” he said, and it was the happiest she'd seen him. “Make three knots: one for good health, one for prosperity, one for joy.”

“Let me help you off with your shoes.” Severa slid back and pulled his canvas kicks from his feet. No socks, so she applied the duct tape to his bare ankles. She was starting to sweat under her wig so she removed it and put it on the ground.

“You can kill me,” Somvay said suddenly, “but not yet.”

She stopped her preparations. “Not ever,” she said, annoyed. “Who do you think I am?” She repositioned herself on his stomach, knees close to his body. He wore a delicate silver chain high on his throat, and when she touched it she felt his pulse against her thumb.

“Relax,” she said. “Tell me more about Laos.”

He obeyed. “When I was a boy I played ball around the wat with my friends. Beautiful trees there, and the temple's golden roof. My mother warned me to be very careful about kicking the ball, because if I were to lose control of it, and if it were to hit a monk, I would lose merit. We were careful, but we were boys and one day I kicked the ball with the top of my foot so it would fly over my friend Thong. It flew, but when it came down it hit a monk. In the head!”

Behind her, the terrible sea gurgled and breathed.

“I froze,” he continued. “And the monk looked at me, eyes black, and then bowed and said, ‘Thank you. For the opportunity to practice patience.'” Somvay brought his arms up an inch from the ground, and she felt him shift beneath her. “And now I say thank you. For this. For the reminder that I own nothing, not even my body.”

“Cut it out,” she said, truly nervous now.

“
Bo pen nyang,
” he said. “Never mind.” He laughed, and it was like a red scarf in the air.

She kissed him on the mouth, just once, hard, and when she stopped his eyes were shut, his breath light. She reached under him for his wallet. Inside, a credit card—she could use that tonight at least—and thirty-five dollars cash. Behind the bills was a cracked photograph, and when she removed it she saw a young monk in orange robes, lacquer bowl in hand, standing beneath a well-leafed tree. Somvay, of course, same soft eyes and flat cheeks. She slid the photo and credit card into her jeans. She laid the wallet next to her wig. She rose and circled Somvay's still body. The lime pit taunted her, that terrible sea. For a second she imagined floating across it, away from her dirty little life, hitting Thailand, super-green, on the other shore.

But everything's working, she reassured herself. I'm alive. Isn't that the real truth?

Then she heard. The growl of an engine, a dark beat pumping through bad speakers. She grabbed her wig and bag and reached under Somvay's arms. He was out. Holding her breath she dragged him to a spread of brush, dirt funneling into where his jeans gaped from his waist. When she heard the vehicle pop over a log blocking the Planet's secret path, she dropped Somvay and moved away into other weeds.

A truck careened into the Planet. Two men in the cab. And then she saw Somvay's wallet near the bank of the pit. And his bound ankles, not quite in the weeds, shined on by the big moon.

S
EVERA HUDDLED
in the dirt. The men were First Class Cranksters, she could see right away, scabby and bone-thin. Just skinny little zipheads, she told herself. And hadn't her dad once showed her some killer judo moves? But then again the crank had probably made the men vicious and paranoid enough to pack heat.

Still: the wallet. The ex-monk in the woods. Severa closed her eyes and slowed her breath and tried to tap into the vibes of any good forces that might be lurking, able to help.

The men had left the truck's headlights on, which lit the clearing nice and bright. One of the them, a blue-skinned guy with long arms, hurriedly fired a camp stove and unloaded boxes of chemicals and a collection of small empty jars. The other, small and hairless, cut open a series of Vicks inhalers, removed the cottons, and mixed them with water in a glass meat-loaf dish.

“I bumped into this girl last night,” she heard the bald man say, “this South-of-Grand girl, and she goes, ‘Trade you the rings off my fingers for a gram.'”

The blue man sprayed starter fluid into a jar and shook it until there were clouds inside. “I'd have said, ‘How 'bout you give me your fingers instead.'”

The bald man frowned.

“I'd bite off a finger and use it to get her wet!”

“Nice,” the bald man said. He dumped a cupful of clear fluid into the meat-loaf dish and balanced it on the camp stove. A smell like nail-polish remover made Severa's eyes tear.

Something rustled the high grasses around her, something stronger than wind. When she looked, Somvay was squirming. She slid toward him, keeping an eye on the clearing. In their rush to cook up, the men had missed the wallet and the ankles both, but now Somvay was getting noisy. Kneeling behind him, she pulled his body—slowly, slowly—further into the weeds. His eyes blinked open. A sound burbled in his throat. Could he breathe? Watching the men, Severa held one finger to her lips and untaped his mouth.

“Water,” Somvay said.

The blue man looked up.

“Quiet,” Severa whispered fiercely. “None here.”

“Who's there?” the blue man said. He started toward their hiding weeds, and Severa saw the gun in his pants. So she retaped Somvay's mouth and stepped into the clearing. It was exactly like going on stage.

“Hey, you all seen a giant black guy out here?” she said. “I lost track of my boyfriend somewhere in these woods.”

The men appraised her. She tried to look ugly and old.

“You're not law, right, dressed like that?” the blue man asked.

She made herself giggle stupidly. “No, no, these are date clothes. My boyfriend and I come down here on weekends and practice with his gun.”

“Glad to hear it,” the blue man said. “Because I've been in jail once and I'd kill somebody first before I went back.”

“You mean you'd kill yourself before going back,” the bald man corrected him.

“Is that what I said?” the blue man asked Severa, smiling. “Did my brother hear me right?”

She ignored the question. “You two are brothers?”

“We're brothers,” the bald man said. “You can call him Luke and me Pat.”

“But we're not like your brother,” blue Luke said. “That's one crazy brother, leaving a little girl alone in the woods.”

With men, Severa knew, the key is to not let them think they scare you. Don't give them anything. Just get away.

“Enjoy your crappy redneck heroin,” she said. “I'm gone.”

“Wait a minute,” Luke said. “I don't want to chase you.”

She stuck in her place.

“If you're lost, it's no good to run all over,” he said.

“Really is better to stay still,” advised Pat.

“All right,” she said, voice light, “I can hang for a time.” She found room for herself between a pile of Prestone cans and a box of Red Devil Lye.

Luke took a step toward her and sent the cans clattering with his foot. Then he settled into the empty space he'd made. His neck was dirty above the collar of his shirt. His pupils were big as dimes.

Severa stared back, trying to be cool. She had a plan. If he made a move, she'd yell, “Thank you, Lord, for sending him!” If he kept going she'd whisper, “Praise Jesus for every act you do.” That might make him lose his nerve.

In the meantime, she yawned and twisted away from him, pretending to stretch. She cast a quick glance toward where Somvay was. Her stomach wobbled when she saw him sitting head above the grass line, arms untaped. He was going to free himself and leave her. Then where would she be?

Her spine cracked, and she twisted back to center. Pay attention, girl. That's everything now. Her best hope was that these guys fixed and left fast.

“Can I see your gun?” she asked Luke sweetly, to distract him.

He took the gun from his waistband and pointed it at her.

Not so scary. In fact, something about a gun in her face made her feel like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

“Come on, man,” said Pat. “That's uncool.”

“You think?” Luke let the barrel hover eye level a few seconds more and then stood and replaced the gun in his pants. “Well, that's all right. Night's long. Besides, I got to go drain myself of poisons before I put new poison in.”

“I have to piss too,” said Pat.

“Why don't you first stay with her,” Luke said. “We sure wouldn't want anybody to be alone.” He loped toward the truck, slow and easy as a cop.

Severa watched to make sure he didn't veer toward Somvay. Then she turned back to Pat. He avoided her glance, scrambling up to gather the cans his brother had scattered. His ears were dull yellow and scarred.

“What's with them angry ears?” she said.

He stopped and used a can to poke one lightly. “Used to be a firefighter,” he said. “These days they got helmets with protectors. Back then, your ears were all out.”

“Poor you,” she said, pretending sympathy.

“Better before,” Pat said, “with your ears like antennas. Hot ears meant it was time to bail.” He let the cans fall from his arms into a brown Hy-Vee bag. “Fellas today are so covered up they can't feel it. It's too late before they know trouble's there.”

Severa eyeballed him sharply. Was this iced-up tweaker making metaphors? Was he, in fact, a bright guy?

Pat wasn't saying. He wasn't even paying attention to her anymore. He knelt by the camp stove, warming his hands and scanning the black sky. “I loved that job,” he sighed. “I loved my chief like he was my own daddy. If that man pointed me to the Gates of Hell, I would have grabbed a hose and charged in.”

“You know,” she said, trying to play his sudden softness, “I think bald guys are the smartest and most soulful of all guys. It's like without hair to worry about they have more time to think deep.”

Pat massaged the sweat on his face up to his scalp. She watched him try not to be pleased. “You're putting me on,” he said finally. “But still. I ought to let you run right now. But what Luke would do…” He whistled. “Go along nice is all I can say. Don't make things harder than they got to be.”

Her blood sped up, getting her dizzy. She took a deep breath and watched the dish on the fire steam. Over the summer she and Doug had tried to make raisins by drying grapes on a blanket in the sun. While they waited, Doug had her do bong hits. Pretty soon she was all over that blanket, popping hot fruit with her teeth.

“My turn,” she heard Luke say. He squatted next to her, smelling like a sick cat. Pat got to his feet and jogged toward the truck.

Severa prepared to fight.

But Luke had other things in mind. He arranged his works on a rock, then took a packet of crystal from his pocket and fixed a shot. His muscles tensed. A rare red came to his cheeks.

“So,” he asked when he finished shooting, “where do you think your brother is now?”

She was rethinking the whole boyfriend tale. Luke might like the idea of having to use force on her. Best plan was to get the brothers beating on each other, in the wild of their after-shot flash.

“I'm talking to you,” Luke said. He leaned closer and toyed with the hem of her skirt. His finger bled from the nail bed. When it brushed against her, her quadriceps flexed against her will.

“Stop,” she said. “I don't want your poison blood on me.”

“I asked you a question.” He moved the finger to her wrapped-up wrist. She already had a story made up about spraining it during karate lessons, but Luke didn't ask. He touched her neck, and she cleared her throat and spoke.

“You seen right through me, guy. You know I don't have a boyfriend. I'm just playing coy.”

“Playing coy,” Luke said softly. Then he grabbed her head and kissed her. It was like jumping into a pool of dead fish.

“Your mouth is trash!” she spit, pushing him away.

Luke grinned, eyes strobing. “Anyhow, I'm too speedy to fuck. At present.”

She made herself chuckle. “Oh, who am I fooling. I saw something with you and me right away. The thing is your brother's coming on real strong.”

“Yeah?” Luke knuckled his eyebrows and then gazed at her sadly. “That boy always wants what's mine. But I cut him slack again and again. You know how it goes. Next to water, blood's thick.”

“Next to water, everything's thick,” Severa said. “But then, like, you have this lime pit, for example. Compared to what's in there, blood's real thin. Plus there's more you should know.” She leaned in, bolder. “Your brother said we ought to gank you and snatch the crank and run.”

Luke's face darkened. “One night…” he started. “One night my brother died three times. Three! But I kept bringing him around. I sat him in a cold tub and kept him alive.” He ground his teeth. “This is how I get paid back?”